


Just Like a Silver Screen (You Walk Into My Life)

by hanekawa



Category: Kamen Rider W | Masked Rider Double
Genre: Adorkable Shoutarou is Totally Adorkable, Gen, M/M, Multilingual Ability Is Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekawa/pseuds/hanekawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shoutarou feeds Philip common sense, one small bit at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like a Silver Screen (You Walk Into My Life)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【受权翻译】如同银幕（你走进我的生命里）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484140) by [elflusansan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elflusansan/pseuds/elflusansan)



.

" _Ich liebe dich._ " Shoutarou whispers into the silence. _"Ich liebe dich._ "

Philip doesn't turn.

Of course.

  
*

  
Once, he asks Philip, “was Japanese your default language or something?”

Caught off guard, Philip blinks. And Shoutarou watches as all his previous research and thoughts disappear behind Philip’s eyes. “Eh?”

Shoutarou clears his throat. “I mean, with all those Earth Library knowledge you possess, surely Japanese can’t be the only language you know or speak, right? So why do you only talk in Japanese?”

Philip only stares at him.

“It’s just,” Shoutarou shifts his weight from one foot to another, hands gesturing wildly, “I keep noticing that when you write your notes, you don’t always write them using Japanese characters.” He points a finger to the whiteboard, where indeed, there are scribbles written every which way in languages that can’t be Japanese, with some Greek and Roman symbols thrown in. He also swears he sees some of the symbols that remind him of Egypt’s ancient hieroglyph he often sees on Discovery Channel.

“Ah.” Philip says, looking at his own scribbles in wonder.

It’s Shoutarou’s turn to blink. “You’ve never actually noticed it yourself?”

“How fascinating.” Philip says, tracing the writing on the board with a finger. He looks rather excited. He also looks like he’s ready to forget that Shoutarou’s still in the room.

“Right.” Shoutarou eyes Philip carefully. “So that already answers my initial question. But can you actually speak it?” when Philip blinks and gives him an inquiring look, Shoutarou adds, “say something. In a language that isn’t Japanese.”

Philip tilts his head to the side. “What do you want me to say?”

“Um.” Shoutarou says, wondering why his brain suddenly decides to blank out. “Something easy.” It should be something simple, something that Shoutarou himself would recognize, so that he’d know if it was right or wrong. Something in which the real meaning wouldn’t get lost in translation—despite being translated over and over into various languages.

Philip just keeps looking at him expectantly.

“Then,” Shoutarou says, “how about _daisuki_?” he frowns. “Wait, no. Say _aishiteru_ instead. Try say _aishiteru_ out loud in another language.”

Philip shakes his head. Straightens. Dusts himself up. Then he lifts his head, eyes staring straight into Shoutarou’s. “ _I love you._ ” He says in English.

_Ba-thump._

Shoutarou blinks. Eh? What was that just now?

“ _Je t'aime._ ” Philip says, slowly. There’s this lilting quality to his accent, in the way he says it, that makes Shoutarou—

“ _Wo ai ni_.” Philip continues to say, eyes blinking rapidly. “ _Sarangheyo_.” A lift up of the corners of his mouth, as he starts to look excited again. _Really_ excited. “ _Ich liebe dich._ ”

A pause.

“Er.” Shoutarou says, for the lack of things to say.

“Shoutarou!” Philip exclaims, grabbing Shoutaoru’s shoulders, “you’re really a genius! I didn’t even know that *I* have such extensive knowledge of various languages!”

Shoutarou stares at him. “Right. Because the fact that you always unconsciously write your notes in languages that isn’t Japanese is no way an indication. I see.”

Except Philip is already lost in his own world again, eyes wide, the marker in his hand scribbling furiously on any vertical surface he could find. This time, not only his writings are not Japanese, but even his mutterings have morphed into sounds that Shoutarou couldn’t hope to make the meaning of.

He wonders why he feels strangely rejected.

  
*

Sometimes, it feels like Philip forgets he’s supposed to be human.

Shoutarou has lost count of how many times he has found Philip laying on the basement floor, eyes closed, breathing stopped. The very first time it happened, he was so shocked he couldn’t do anything but stare at Philip’s prone form. Even as he checked Philip’s veins, even as he put his ear on Philip’s chest, he couldn’t find any pulse, and. And it felt like Begins Night all over again, with Philip’s pale skin (Oyassan’s red-stained suit), his unmoving figure (please don’t die—)

But the worse thing was that _he wasn’t sure Philip had ever had a pulse in the first place._

“Please,” Shoutarou said, as he lay Philip’s head on his shoulder, as he cradled Philip’s body to his own, as his trembling hands kept on holding tight to Philip, “don’t leave me alone. Don’t—“

He should’ve paid a proper attention. He should’ve watched over him as Oyassan must have wanted him to. He should’ve—

There were so many things— _too_ many things—he should’ve done.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, on the cold basement floor, murmuring things he couldn’t recall anymore to Philip’s ear, while rocking his unmoving body like one would a little child. He only knew that by the time Philip’s fingers started twitching, by the time Philip’s cold skin (finally) started warming up, by the time Philip’s eyes fluttered open, by the time Philip’s hand reach out and touch Shoutaoru’s cheek, Shoutarou was nothing but a numb, sobbing mess.

“Shoutarou?” Philip said, voice raspy, like he was relearning his way to talk, like he didn’t have enough air to sound the word properly.

“Welcome back.” Shoutarou said, pulling the other boy to him, his hands around Philip’s shoulders, Philip’s back, Philip’s arms, just to make sure that Philip was—really there.

It was then he realized he barely felt Philip’s heartbeat.

  
*

  
“How many languages could you speak?” Philip asks.

The question sort of catches Shoutarou off guard, since Philip rarely speaks out of the blue. “A few.” Shoutarou answers truthfully. “Japanese is still the only language I understand perfectly, though. While I could read English, my English speaking and listening ability still need improvements. And maybe a few basic phrases in Korean, Italian, and French. A little German. Yup, that’s all. I think.” He pauses. “Why ?”

There’s a twitch at the corner of Philip’s lips, something that Shoutarou couldn’t interpret.

“Just curious.” Philip says, which is no answer at all, since he’s *always* curious. “Okay, then.” And just like that, he’s back to his own little world – one that Shoutarou still has no access to.

He sighs.

  
*

  
He tells the Watcherman about Philip (minus the Museum’s connection details) because Watcherman knows lots about different types of people, and therefore must be an expert. Besides, an information broker Watcherman might be, but selling his own friends is not something he would do.

“You’re saying you like this kid.” Watcherman says.

Shoutarou is like, “Huh?”

Watcherman blinks. “Aren’t you? I mean, you care so much about this Philip kid that you’re actually keeping tabs of every little thing he does.”

Shoutarou gapes. “I’m not keeping tabs of him! I just try to note down his habits since he’s so weird he has different standards from us *normal* human, so that I wouldn’t get freaked out every time he does something abnormal!” _Like stops breathing for a few hours at a time when he needs recharging, for example,_ Shoutarou adds in his head.

“But Shou-chan,” Watcherman says, “isn’t that the same thing?”

“It’s not!” Shoutarou replies hotly. “Why would I even care about that insufferable kid?!”

“If you really don’t care,” Watcherman observes, “then why do you keep thinking about him?”

Shoutarou opens his mouth. Blinks. Closes his mouth again. And then blinks some more.

“See?” Watcherman says, gently, softly.

“Your fashion sense is atrocious.” Shoutarou says, since he’s awesome at insults like that.

  
*

  
The second time, the third time Shoutarou found Philip unconscious with no heartbeat was no less frightening than the first time, even if he was less shocked the second time around. Through those times, he kept cradling Philip’s body to himself, holding him close, all the while he chanted to himself that this was only temporary, that Philip would eventually wake up and act as obnoxious as always, with no recollection of having blanked out at all.

He just—

At those times, Shoutarou never thought the world could be such a dark, lonely place.

  
*

  
Queen lets out a small chuckle. “Men sure are stupid about this kind of thing, aren’t they?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Shoutarou exclaims indignantly.

“Hmm, rather than stupid, I think cowardly would be more appropriate, Queen.” Elizabeth cheerfully adds.

“Oi!” Shoutarou protests.

“Shou-chan, all you do is complain about how Philip-kun pays more attention to his research than to you.” Queen says, resting her chin on one hand, while her other hand busy typing on her phone. “Well, the problem is obvious, don’t you think?”

“Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t see it then.” Shoutarou rolls his eyes. Then crosses his arms for good measure.

“Oh Shou-chan~” Elizabeth giggles. “I always know you’re cute, but I never realize you’re actually *adorable* as well.”

Shoutarou furrows his brows. “I…really couldn’t decide whether that was an insult or a compliment.”

“Sorry, Shou-chan. We gotta run.” Queen smiles amusedly, snapping her phone closed. “Later, then.” She adds as she rises from her seat and links her arm with Elizabeth’s.

“Maybe it’s time you stop drowning in De Nile, Shou-chan.” Elizabeth winks over her shoulder. “We really don’t think it’s all that healthy for you~”

“Technically, it’s impossible for me to drown in a river in a country I’ve never even visited before!” Shoutarou shouts to their giggling, retreating backs. “Oi, did you hear me? Oi!”

They obviously didn’t. Also, it appears they have left him to foot the bill.

Shoutarou sighs. What is it with women and their secret-giggle-code?

_Honestly._

  
*

  
“Do you know that fish can breathe underwater?” Shoutarou asked. “Unlike human.”

Philip looked up at him. “Eh?” a blink. “Why, yes. I believe it’s because fish has these things called gills that allowed them to filter air from the water, while human are—“

“Human can never breathe underwater.” Shoutarou said. When Philip opened his mouth as if to protest, he hastily added, “at least not without the help of an oxygen tank.” He looked at Philip, “you get it, don’t you?”

“That human can never breathe underwater without help?” Philip said. “Sure.”

“That,” Shoutarou said, taking Philip’s hands in his, looking right into Philip’s eyes, “and how if human can’t breathe, then they would—die.” _So please, never scare me by stop breathing again._

Philip tilted his head to the side, making no attempt to retrieve his hands. “But it applies to all living things—including plants—and not only human. Not breathing is one of the most obvious sign that a living creature is no longer…well, _living_.”

“Certainly.” Shoutarou smiles, soft, soft, _soft_. “So you understood, right? It’s important to * _not_ * stop breathing—even when you’re asleep, even when you’re in your most idle moments, even when you’re unconscious, even when you’re too tired to do anything else. You know that, right?”

Philip gave him a strange look. “Of course. Even without you telling me that, I’m sure my body automatically does that. I’m still a human, after all.”

 _But you’re not,_ Shoutarou wanted to say. _You may *resemble* one, but you’re *not* one._

The Child of Fate, Oyassan used to say. The Child of Fate—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

But all Shoutarou did was pat Philip on the head, and gave him the gentlest smile he could muster. “Sure. I’m glad that we’ve covered that.”

He smiled once more, taking a step back. Then he walked up the basement’s stairs, and closed the door behind him—softly. He washed the coffee cups. Locked the windows. Put his scattered documents in order. Tidied up his desk. Once he was sure everything was in its place, he crawled under the desk, hugged his knees to his chest, and pretended he couldn’t see Philip’s pale, unmoving, and breathless body behind his closed eyelids.

 _I’m still a human,_ Philip had said.

Shoutarou desperately hoped that that wasn’t true, because. Because if it was true, then once—once Philip stopped breathing again, he would never wake up, and Shoutarou just—

Shoutarou couldn’t—

It was simply unthinkable.

  
*

  
(But Philip never did stop breathing again after that; he still had his fainting spells, but even when he collapsed from exhaustion, even when his body tried to recharge itself, his heart kept beating, in rhyme with his steady breathing.

Shoutarou couldn’t be more grateful.)

  
*

  
It was not that Philip forgot to eat; it was just that he _didn’t know he was supposed to eat._

At least, that was what Shoutarou deduced, after the _nth_ time Philip let the meals Shoutarou put aside for him left untouched.

“What,” Shoutarou said, “you don’t like omurice? Well, I’m sorry to say, but eggs is all we have at the moment, so you have to make do—at least just for now.”

“Have you ever wondered,” Philip said, staring at his omurice plate in fascination, “why is it Japanese, instead of calling it as ‘omelet with rice’, prefer to just shorten it to ‘omurice’? Who was the person who suggested it? When was this term first used? What was the cause?” he stared some more, leaning his face closer until his eyes were at a level with the table surface.

Shoutarou blinked. “No, really. None really cares about such technical stuff. People mostly care more about whether the cooked eggs were sweetened or salted.”

“Hmm…” Philip mumbled. Then he shot to his feet, declaring “I need to look this up!” and was gone back to the basement before Shoutarou could even say a single “Eh?”

The next time, Shoutarou decided to cook a simple miso soup and natto instead. Maybe if it was traditional Japanese meal, Philip wouldn’t get so hyped up about unnecessary stuff.

He was terribly mistaken.

“—or about why was it, despite having the same name, the recipe for miso soup is always different and unique to each household? Sometimes even the appearance is also different, and yet people insist on calling it miso soup!” Philip declared excitedly.

Shoutarou stared. “Seriously? SERIOUSLY?”

Philip grabbed Shoutarou’s hands, looking imploringly at him. Shoutarou swore there were actual *sparkles* in Philip’s eyes. “Don’t you also find it curious, Shoutarou?”

“I really don’t.” Shoutarou deadpanned. “But I’m curious about why you’re more interested in researching your food than in eating them.”

Only Philip appeared to not have heard him, since the boy declared, “This needs looked up!” and disappeared from the room.

Shoutarou refrained himself from stomping his foot like a little kid he no longer was. Next time, he told himself.

Except the same thing kept happening every. Single. Time. No matter the food variety, be it udon, fried ebi, hamburger, sashimi, even Shoutarou’s prized, precious, expensive sushi.

“—and then, how did anyone could ever come up with the idea to serve such two unique dishes together? I find it very interesting, the fact that—“

“PHILIP, JUST EAT THE DAMN THING AND STOP TALKING.”

Philip blinked.

Oh crap. “Er. I mean, why don’t you eat for now, and then you can go research whatever afterwards?” he tried to smile encouragingly, disarmingly, but he suspected it looked more like a guilty grimace. “Okay?”

Philip blinked again. And then looked down at his plate of spaghetti in near wonder. “Eat it?”

“Yes, eat it. Like, you pick some of those swirly spaghetti with your fork, shove them into your mouth, chew them up, and then swallow them down your throat.” Shoutarou said, failing to not make his tone end in sarcasm. _Honestly._

Philip just continued staring at him.

Shoutarou frowned. “You know, like this?” and he acted out his explanation: picked the spaghetti, and then shoved them into his mouth – with Philip watching intently all the way. As he chewed, Shoutarou’s frown deepened. “Now you try it too.”

Philip’s movement as he mimicked Shoutarou’s action was so…awkward. Almost unfamiliar. Like it was a gesture foreign to him. Like it was a first for him. Like he was learning from scratch. A thought suddenly hit Shoutarou, unbidden – it was impossible, but. But then again—

“Hey, Philip,” Shoutarou’s mind immediately reminded him about Philip’s fainting spells, about how it only happened for a few days at a time, nearly resembling a pattern; how Philip always looked pale and drawn out when he fell, but looked refreshed when he (finally) woke up. “Have you eaten? At all? For the few weeks you’ve been here?” _Or for the few years you’ve been alive, for that matter?_

Philip blinked at him, real slow. “I’m eating now.”

Shoutarou bit his lower lip, preventing himself from screaming in frustration. “What about—what about those meals, or. Or the snacks I’ve often left in your basement?” because a slob Shoutarou might be, but he wouldn’t leave Philip alone without some basic preservation.

“Oh. I put them back where they belong!” Philip said proudly, a little kid waiting for a praise after doing a good deed. When Shoutarou just kept staring at him in slack-jawed disbelief, he added, a little unsurely, “um, you know, in the trash bin? You’ve told me that we shouldn’t litter, so I put all your waste there. Like you’ve once instructed me to.”

Shoutarou had to physically grip the table’s edge hard to prevent himself from crossing over to Philip’s place and shaking some sense into him. Or slam his own head to the wall. Both choices looked really tempting right now.

“Philip,” Shoutarou tried to say. “ _Philip._ ”

_Fucking Child of Fate._

No wonder Philip kept having those fainting spells. His body never got the fuel it needed, and so it had to shut itself down to recover; to preserve itself the only way it knew how. Like a fucking rechargeable battery.

“Hey,” Shoutarou said, forcing a smile—because it was either that or start crying, “hey, just eat the spaghetti before it gets cold, yeah? Or it wouldn’t be as delicious anymore.”

Philip eyed his plate hesitantly. Then, just as slow as the first time, he picked up a forkful, and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Once he was done, he looked at Shoutarou again.

“Go on, then.” Shoutarou smiled encouragingly, gesturing to the rest of Philip’s meal with his chin.

So Philip took another dainty bite. And then another. And another, until his plate was nearly empty. As Philip put down his fork, Shoutarou slid him a glass of water.

“How was it?” Shoutarou asked, soft, soft, _soft_ , with a smile still firmly attached to his face.

“It was…” Philip blinked. Looked down at his empty plate, before raising his eyes to meet Shoutarou’s. “It’s good. Delicious.”

“Nice to hear.” Shoutarou said, the corner of his mouth lifted up just a tiny bit more. “Thank you for the meal.” Shoutarou added, bowing his head a little, and clapping his hands together once.

“Thank you for the meal.” Philip mimicked him, down to his gesture. Then he raised his head again, looking at Shoutarou hesitantly.

 _Looking for approval_ , Shoutarou realized. Shoutarou’s eyes softened. “That’s more like it.”

Philip’s shy smile was nothing short of blinding.

  
*

  
(Since then, Shoutarou always tried to be home at meal times, making sure Philip ate his portions properly. It went on for a few weeks, until finally one day, Philip expressed “Shoutarou, I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?” all by his own initiative, and Shoutarou—

And Shoutarou was so happy he ended up ordering sushi for their lunch. Expensive sushi. Since it was celebration and all. Even if he also ended up broke for the rest of the month, considering Philip got too excited and tried all kinds of sushi at once. And by ‘all kinds’, he really did mean _’all kinds’_.

But! Taking into accounts how Philip’s fainting spells lessened drastically, Shoutarou couldn’t bring himself to mind at all.)

  
*

  
“It’s not that different, I think.” Inspector Jinno says in a singsong.

“Yeah, right.” Shoutarou rolls his eyes. “Also, erase that grin from your face. You look entirely too happy about my problem.”

“But I *am* always happy. And grinning. That’s like, my trademark.” Inspector Jinno grins wider. “You see a man grinning happily at a mile away, you can be sure it’s the police inspector Jinno.”

Shoutarou really couldn’t argue with that. “So not the point.”

“Exactly.” Inspector Jinno hums. “There’s no point at all. I really never understand why youngsters these days like to make their own lives difficult. Why make a problem out of nothing?”

“It’s not out of nothing! I swear, there’s a bunch of rea—“

“One thing I’ve noticed about you, Hidari Shoutarou, is that while you always jump in at a chance to help other people with their problems, you tend to run away when it comes to your own self.”

Shoutarou bristles indignantly. “I never run—“

“Of course you would know yourself best.” Inspector Jinno grins charmingly at him. “But Shoutarou, you don’t need a reason to care about somebody. Sometimes, you just do.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I don’t want to.” Shoutarou says sulkily. “It sucks, caring about somebody who would not even notice whether you’re there or not.”

Inspector Jinno’s grin softens.

Shoutarou blinks. Oh crap. “I didn’t just say that.”

“Nothing’s wrong with being a little selfish~” Inspector Junno says in that annoying singsong tone. “So you want this kid to care about you in return, but he never does. You know, this may sound cheesy, but—“

Shoutarou snorts. “You ARE cheesy.”

Inspector Jinno smacks him on the head. _Ow._

“Respect your elders.” He says with a blinding smile. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah. Sometimes, the case is not that the other person doesn’t care about you; it’s more that you don’t notice it.”

Just as Shoutarou opens his mouth to protest, the inspector raises a finger to silence him.

“Maybe you’re both equally blind.” Inspector Jinno says gently. “Maybe, just like you care about that person in ways that that person never notices, that person also cares about you in ways you never notice. It’s the little things, Shoutarou. It’s always the little things.”

“You’re no help.” Shoutarou says. “Also, your tie is atrocious. And your grin is creepy.” He receives another smack on the head for his trouble.

  
*

  
(But the truth is—the truth is. Shoutarou couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Since if he let himself hope, he didn’t think he could take the plunge once said hope got crushed.)

  
*

  
“—and if you added phosphor into the mix, the solution would change color into either grayish white or light mauve, depending on the amount of—“ Philip rattles on, the marker in his right hand flying every which way, while his other hand holding his ever trusted empty book.

The scene is so… normal, so ordinary here that Shoutarou’s heart aches at the familiarity of it all. When was it, he wonders, watching Philip researching things, mumbling to himself, ignoring the world at large, has become something so habitual, so usual, that it feels like Philip has always been here from the start?

When was it, it starts being weird seeing Philip anywhere _but_ here?

_Please don’t go away._

“ _Ich liebe dich_.” Shoutarou whispers into the silence. “ _Ich liebe dich_.”

Philip doesn’t turn.

Shoutarou smiles. Of course. His German pronunciation is so bad none would understand, so no wonder there’s no reaction. Besides, his low voice would make it seem like he’s only mumbling to himself.

Just as silent as he comes, he goes back up to his office, humming a little song under his breath.

  
*

  
(If only Shoutarou had paid a little closer attention, he would’ve realized while Philip didn’t turn, his marker had stilled and his mumbling had stopped.

But Shoutarou never did.)

  
*

  
At first, he thought it was only one of Philip’s little quirks, the way the boy was so obsessive about his research. It was only much later though, he noticed the near desperation in the way Philip did his research, and realized it for what it really was:

An escape.

Much like the way Shoutarou kept avoiding the issue of Oyassan’s death. Much like the way Shoutarou himself pretended that Oyassan was only on vacation when somebody asked for him. Much like the way Shoutarou—

He sighed.

Something really needed to be done, didn’t it?

“Come with me.” Shoutarou ordered, as he grabbed Philip’s hand and dragged him up to the office. Then he sat Philip on the sofa, while he turned on the TV.

“Wha—“ Philip began, but Shoutarou cut him.

“Watch this movie with me.” Shoutarou said, depositing himself beside Philip.

“A movie.” Philip repeated blankly.

“Why yes. A movie. A scary movie. One that shouldn’t be watched alone, since it would be too scary otherwise.”

Philip blinked. “Why would it matter, if you watched it alone or with other people? A scary movie is still a scary movie. And it’s not like the content of the movie will change just because you watch it with other people.”

“Because,” Shoutarou said, squeezing one of Philip’s hands in his, “while the content of the movie is the same, the feelings are quite different. Since if we watched it with other people, we shared our fear together, and it wouldn’t be as scary anymore.”

Philip tilted his head to the side. “I don’t understand.”

Shoutarou took a deep breath. “It’s simply because, when we share our fear, we share our burden; and when we finally share our burden, we would feel lighter.” He smiled at Philip. “Don’t you think so?”

“You’re saying sharing is important?”

“I’m saying sometimes, sharing is necessary.” Shoutarou said quietly. “So that we wouldn’t suffer alone.”

“Oh.” Philip said, brows furrowed. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Shoutarou said, watching the other boy carefully. “I really hope so.”

Small baby steps, Shoutarou reminded himself. Small baby steps.

He tightened his hold on Philip’s hand.

  
*

  
Sometimes, he would catch Philip staring at him, his lips moving, speaking some things Shoutarou doesn’t understand. He has always thought at those times, Philip is only spacing out while concentrating hard on his research, and it just so happens he turns Shoutarou’s way; that it’s a total coincidence and has nothing to do with Shoutarou at all.

Except.

Except one day, while he’s listening to a German Interpreter during a case in Inspector Jinno’s office, he realizes some of the words sound familiar – even though he’s sure he’s never met a German before. Besides, his German vocabulary only consists of the phrase ‘Ich liebe dich’—I love you—and nothing more.

But something, something about the way the Interpreter speaks the words—be it intonation, pronunciation, or maybe the dialect—really strikes something familiar, like. Like he’s often heard it before, even though he couldn’t.

Then it hits him: _Philip_.

“Can you—can you tell me again, the meaning of that second sentence in the letter?” Shoutarou asks the interpreter, pointing to the letter evidence in question.

“Oh. Sure.” The interpreter says. “It’s a quote by Joseph von Eichendorff, _Mein Lieb ist verschwiegen, und schön wie die Nacht._ It means _My love is silent, and as beautiful as the night._ ”

With the way his heart suddenly beats so loud, it’s a wonder none else in the whole Investigation Department could hear it.

  
*

  
But when he finally—finally—sees Philip, all his earlier excitement and courage instantly disappear in a not-so-much a puff of smoke. As he stands there on the doorway, frozen to the floor, he just—

“Shoutarou?” Philip says. “Something’s wrong?”

It’s Philip, the same Philip, who always looks at him with the light in his eyes and the fond little smile in the corner of his mouth—quite a difference from the excited way he always looks when doing his research.

 _it’s always the little things,_ Inspector Jinno says.

“Ah.” Shoutarou says.

“Hey,” Philip says, pressing a hand to Shoutarou’s cheek, “did something happen in the Police Station?”

“Yeah.” Shoutarou says, covering Philip’s hand with his. “I think I just have a revelation.”

“Eh?” Philip tilts his head to the side.

“Nothing.” He leans slightly into Philip’s touch. “Just me being stupid, as usual.”

Philip laughs.

Ah, Shoutarou thinks, watching as that little laugh lightens up Philip’s whole face, as his eyes sparkle in amusement, as—

Some things really don’t need to be said at all.

.

.

.

_.fin._


End file.
